The Chelsea Piers Sports and Entertainment Complex looks as dead as every other building on the street this late at night. To be quite honest, Wade doesn't actually know a lot about this place, just that it used to be four old piers turned into a rich-geezer establishment. It has a nice gym, but it's not the kind of place he normally squats in.

Tony said Peter's last ping was here. It wasn't much of a clue for Scooby and the gang, Peter could literally be anywhere on the block, but it's all Wade has to go on. He crosses his fingers, cocks his gun, and hopes this isn't a waste of time.

He cuts through the parking lot after brief surveillance and the go-ahead from Tony, who'd relocated a few streets away at the behest of Wade. True to Stark's word, no one is guarding the front door, which is odd. Sneaking in isn't a problem for Wade, despite his reputation for being a loudmouth. He can be quite the stealthy little minx when he wants to be, the special military opts team he was trained in makes sure of that. Strategy is another thing they'd ingrained into his brain, and that's something these guys apparently lacked.

Squinting and holding up one of his guns, he crept across the lobby. Tony was kind enough to give him the schematics of the building beforehand (so maybe he isn't entirely useless), and since this place is supposed to be bustling with people during the day, it's doubtful they're keeping Peter locked in the theater room. Too much clean-up if things get messy and too likely that a guest will find something they're not supposed to.

What Wade is looking for are storage closets, back rooms, and maintenance areas. Anything that won't be seen during opening hours and is too hidden to be stumbled upon. He crept past the fancy dining halls and the fitness center, following a path to the kitchen, and from there, a maintenance hall.

It's quiet. Too quiet, if you'll forgive him the cliche. It's unnerving. The way Weasel talked about this group implied that Wade had his work cut out for him. He was prepared to bust knees and splatter brains. Where are his knees and brains?!

There are a few cameras, but those are child's play. If he has been spotted, they're very good at playing hide and seek. Then again, he has three more piers to scope out, Peter could very well be in one of those.

But, well, this one was the best option. Close to the water, close to the land, and was the ideal spot for a speedy get-away if needed.

But maybe he's giving these guys too much credit.

Still, there's an aura of unease surrounding this whole place. Feeling antsier and antsier as the silence wears on, Wade peers around corners praying that someone, anyone, will be there that he can aim his gun at, and he's not even religious. But there's nothing because this place is fucking empty.

Just as he thinks he'd picked the wrong pier, a blood-curdling scream breaks the silence like a thumbtack. A thumbtack because it's so faint and muffled, he would've missed it entirely if he was just a few more feet down the hall.

What a pleasant turn of events.

With a little bit of searching, he finds a maintenance door towards the end of the building with a staircase leading down. Holding his footsteps close to his chest, he makes it to the first landing and examines the long hallway. Still nothing. The lights don't flicker on and off, but they are dim, pulling shadows from every crevice.

Spooky horror movie say what?

The hall is narrow with an occasional door that he tests. All of them are locked. He takes the time to press an ear to each one, trying to pick out any noises inside, but they're quiet too. If he doesn't find anything down here, he'll come back and pick the locks to confirm, but right now, his gut is telling him to find the source of that scream, and out of all his body parts, his gut had the least amount of bullshittery.

He turns the corner, and then another corner, when he finally strikes gold, so to speak. The sight of a body stops him in his tracks and his gun lowers a smidgen, stunned. There is more than one fallen lump strewn across the floor in a manner that implies either unconsciousness or death. Judging by the blood streaked across the walls and floor, he has a feeling it's the latter.

Red alert. This shit just got serious.

Slowly, he withdraws one of his katanas too.

The scrape of the blade against its sheath slip his brain into a state of calm. The voices, the clamoring, and the noise all sharpen and tunnel, becoming a single-minded focus that examines every twisted limb, bruised face, and spot of blood. Farther down, he spots a handprint. A single, bloody, smeared handprint. At first glance, one would assume it belongs to the person slumped against the wall under it, but Wade follows it to another hand print farther up, and then another. Two separate red-smeared palms create a trail from wall to ceiling, where they disappear down the darkened corridor.

A pit falls in his stomach. Horrible thoughts enter his brain.

How many people can climb walls? Who can cause this much destruction?

Who is supposed to be here?

He swallows.

There are a lot of bodies. Some of them have walkie-talkies and guns hanging limply in their fingers or next to their hands. The guards Wade assumed were supposed to be watching the front. Others have their bodies pressed against each other, while more are spread out. They'd been trying to run, bumping into each other in this cramped space, and trampling their comrades as they were pursued.

When he turns another corner, the first thing he sees is a clump on the wall. A big brawney person. A woman with bloody knuckles, so she'd put up a fight. Not that it did her any good in the end. Her shoulder and neck are a bloody open wound that leaks down her clothes, the muscle and bone visible, so it wasn't a clean hit. It was rough and brutal. More like an animal bite than a gunshot or stab wound. Across from her, through a hole in the wall, is an open room with a pair of broken chains suspended from the ceiling and blood splattered across the floor. There are bodies in there too.

But that's not what catches his attention. It's the thin, almost iridescent strands of webbing pinning the woman to the wall. They're not like the webs from Spider-Man's webshooters. Those have a white tint to them and smell faintly of chemicals. These look organic.

Wade runs his fingers down one of the strands, just the slightest touch, and immediately the woman thrashes. "NO!" she howls. "LET ME GO! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Wade frantically waves his hands to shush her, and when that doesn't work, he drops his gun and puts the edge of his sword to her neck, clamping a hand over her mouth. She tries to struggle, but the webs hold tight. Wade waits, pressing his weight into her chest until she runs out of air, and listens for any sign that they'd been heard. When he's positive no one is coming, he lets her go.

He makes a firm zipping motion with his finger and then leans in to observe her injury again. It's hard to tell with all the blood and torn clothes, but the animal-bite comparison was right. It looks as though someone had taken a chunk out of her shoulder. Her arm is twisted at an angle, probably broken. When she breathes there is a faint hitch to it, leading him to suspect a few broken ribs too. Honestly, it's a miracle she's alive at all, but that wouldn't be for long.

"Listen to me," Wade says deadly quiet. "If you want to make it out of here alive, you're going to stay quiet. Got it? I don't want a peep, squeak, or hum. Nothing. Nod if you understand." She nods as well as she can with his sword pressed to her jugular. "Good. Now, I'm going to cut you loose, okay? And then, you're going to take me to-"

She shakes her head frantically, eyes going wide and panicked like a dog, not seeming to give a shit that she's cutting herself on his sword.

"No," she says. "M'not going back there. He's - he's gonna-" she shakes her head, moaning in pain. "Don't make me."

Wade studies her and then growls, pushing off. Holding her at gunpoint wasn't going to make her walk, she was too scared. She'd probably slow him down anyway. Looking down the hall, then back at her, he grumbles unhappily.

"I'll be back for you later. If you're one of the shitheads that jumped him, I want to have a word with you anyway."

He leaves her there, though he figures the heroic thing to do would be to cut her down and send her Stark's way, if not to be interrogated, than at least for treatment. But he's not in a very heroic mood, and if she's truly as scared as she looks, then he has other things to worry about.

He stops by a few other victims, checking the state of their injuries or to see if they're alive as he goes. There are still a few thumping, like a guy with several broken bones and another with a head wound. There's one whose throat is almost entirely ripped out, but even if Wade tried to stem the bleeding, they weren't going to last for much longer.

He finds what he's really looking for in the fifth victim. He tilts their head to the side, bearing their neck, and finds a pair of perfectly symmetrical puncture holes. The area around the bite is purple and inflamed, and their breathing is heavily labored. They weren't dead yet, but if they didn't get to a hospital soon, they would be.

Wade knows he should at least pretend to care. Maybe call an ambulance or ask Tony to do something useful. But in all honesty, he doesn't give two flying farts about any of them. He came here for one person and one person only, and he intends on getting him out of here, safe and sound, before sparing any of them a second thought.

The trail of blood and gore leads him to a room at the very end of the hall. The walls leading up to it are cast in weblines that crisscross from wall to wall, and dangle from the ceiling, sloppily woven together and hastily attached. They get thicker towards the mouth of the room, covering the entire door frame and wall in silvery threads that glint ominously in the dim lighting. The door is gone, torn off its hinges, and the room beyond is cast in shadow too dark to see through.

He stops a few feet from it. His presence is, without a doubt, known by now. Hell, he had probably been sensed the moment he stepped into the hall. He hasn't been attacked, which is a good sign, but that doesn't mean he should waltz in there like he's meeting a friend for coffee. With slow, careful movement, he unclips his belt and sets the heavy pouches on the floor. He does the same with his guns, knives, grenades, switchblades, and katanas, and presents the pile to the door, taking a step back and holding up his hands.

"Okay, Spidey," he whispers, knowing he'll be heard. "I'm coming in, alright? I'll go slow and easy, no fast movements from me, okay?"

He waits for confirmation, but there is none. So, without further ado, he steps over the pile and through the door. He can't make out many details, but it looks like a fairly spacious storage closet filled with boxes, crates, and cabinets. Wade walks in a few feet and waits. Listens. He may as well be alone with how little signs of life he picks up, but his gut tells him otherwise. The hairs that refuse to grow on the back of his neck stand on end. The nagging sense that he's being watched tugs on him like a creepy child holding his sleeve. When he takes another step a dark shape in the shadows suddenly darts, but his eyes aren't quick enough to track where it goes and it disappears in seconds, followed by harrowing silence.

"Spidey?" Wade whispers, holding up his hands to show that he's unarmed. "It's me, Wade. Wilson. Wade Wilson. Your buddy."

The shape shoots through the air again, knocking into a pile of boxes on the floor and disappearing behind them. Wade inches closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of Peter but stops halfway. Why would Peter give up the high ground? That doesn't sound like him at all.

He has fought alongside Spider-Man long enough to know that if you're looking for a spider, you don't look down. You look up.

He looks ups and in that very instant a humanoid shape crashes into him. He sees a glint of white and a manic hiss hills his ears just before he's slammed down into the ground so hard his ribs snap on impact. Two hands pin his arms down while a heavyweight settles on his chest. The dim light from the doorway washes over half of Peter's face and Wade's breath catches in his throat.

Peter's eyes are black. Deep, ebony pools that glint and narrow into a glare, focusing on Wade with the intensity of a rabid animal. His nose wrinkles upward in a snarl and he bares his fangs, which are fully unsheathed.

'Oh, Spidey," Wade whispers. "What happened to you?"

One of Peter's eyes are bruised and swollen shut. His lips are bleeding, his nose is broken, and there's a gash on his forehead dripping blood down his face. Wade follows it to his throat, where a necklace of bruises clings to his skin, then to his shirt which is soaked in blood. Not all of it his.

Wade's stomach drops. "Oh, baby..."

Peter hisses again, but it's loose and he's shaking. His hands clamp around Wade's wrist in an iron-tight grip but a tremor racks his body. Every muscle is tense to the point of hurting and even with his eyes focused on Wade, he cocks his head to the side, face twitching like he's searching for threats nearby.

"You must be in stimulation hell," Wade murmurs. "Just after you got your new skin too."

Peter shys his face away from Wade like his words are physically bumping him in the nose. That's right, vibrations. Spiders don't have good vision, despite having so many eyes, and judging by Peter's eyes he might not even be seeing Wade, just registering him as another danger that needs to be dealt with.

So, Wade takes a breath and goes lax, softening his limbs and closing his eyes, relaxing in Peter's grip. He breathes slowly, as light as he can without stopping his heart. Spiders only go after the fly when it's struggling. Wade will be nothing but debris in his web. Nothing to worry about and nothing to eat. Not a threat.

Peter doesn't move. He stays put for so long that Wade wonders if he's hallucinating the whole thing until Peter's hands unclamp and he slowly, ever so slowly, sits up. Wade keeps still anyway, and when Peter's weight doesn't leave, he opens his eyes a slit.

Peter is still staring at him, but he isn't snarling. He's tense, and hella twitchy, but he isn't threatening to bite him. Wade dares a deep breath and Peter's head snaps to the side. Wade exhales. Inhales. Exhales again.

Peter stares.

Daring his luck, Wade lifts a finger and Peter's lips twitch. Wade lifts his hand and Peter's lips curl, but his fingers aren't going far. Feather-light, the tips of Wade's fingers skim Peter's wrist. They're bloodied around the slit, probably a side effect of using too much of his organic webbing too fast. They're too sensitive to touch, so Wade skirts around them, even as Peter hisses, baring his fangs once more.

Wade stops, and then strokes his fingers down, then up again, and then down. Peter's breaths are labored and he shakes harder. There's a wheeze in his chest, suggesting broken or cracked ribs. He's still baring his fangs, but he isn't attacking, so Wade continues stroking his wrist, thinking back to when Spidey Junior had clung to his back all those months ago. Calming gestures. Sending the message that he's okay. That he's safe.

Peter's lips fall the longer it goes on, head cocking attentively to the side as he clicks in the back of his throat. After a few minutes of this, Wade travels up toward his shoulders and mimics what Spidey Junior had done. This time, Peter relaxes. Not by much, he's still as high-strung as a rubber band, but it eases. Relaxing just the slightest bit in Wade's touch. Wade is careful not to linger in the same spot for too long, or apply too much pressure. Peter's skin is still so sensitive, now more so than ever.

When Peter's fangs are no longer bared, Wade's fingers skim down his arms and ribs. Peter is favoring one side and his wheezing breathes are concerning. Wade touches Peter's side, to confirm the broken ribs, but the moment his hands make contact, the rubber band snaps and in the blink of an eye Peter's face pulls into a snarl and he lurches down, wrenching Wade's head to the side to expose his neck. His jaw closes around it but pauses. The tips of his fangs prick the back of Wade's neck, but they don't puncture. Not yet.

Wade goes limp again, allowing Peter to hold him, even if it means keeping his head angled uncomfortably. Peter can do whatever the fucks he wants, so long as he doesn't panic and run.

A few minutes pass by in tense silence and then Peter's mouth recedes an inch. Wade rubs his wrists again, starting the process all over with meticulous precision and care. Spiders communicate through pheromones and vibrations. Peter made a clicking sound in the back of his throat, nothing quite like what Wade's heard of spiders doing, so it must be a manifestation of his human side finding a way to communicate through the mess of his mixed-pot biology. Wade clicks his tongue in his best imitation of it. It doesn't sound quite right, and he's worried Peter is going to take it as an invitation to reject him. Or eat him. Probably both.

Yeah, probably both.

Instead, Peter freezes. Surprised. His head tilts to one side, and then the other, black eyes boring into Wade despite the way they seemed to look right through him. Tentatively, Peter clicks again, testing the water. Wade responds in kind, and Peter's body locks around him.

Wade doesn't think he could get out of it even if he wanted to. Even if he still had his weapons. Peter is so tuned into every move he makes, every sound and beat of his heart, that he would have Wade's throat torn out the moment he went for his knife. When the silence presses on, Wade clicks again, earning another twitch.

But Peter isn't pouncing, he's listening. Wade clicks and keeps clicking, adding a rhythm or pattern to it occasionally. He could be calling Peter a good little spider, or insulting his mother, he doesn't know. Peter, for his part, is trying to decipher what Wade is saying like it's almost there, but he can't quite make out what the words are.

Wade continues stroking his wrists, and then his shoulders, clicking all the while until Peter isn't shaking so much. He eases the band back bit by bit until it's a relaxed string in his hand.

Breathing shakily, tension bleeds out of Peter's limbs, and leans into Wade's chest, tucking his head near his neck. Wade sits up carefully, arms coming up to hold him. Peter is still straddling him, but his arms curl under Wade's armpits, clutching the back of his suit in distress. Wade, in turn, hides him from the carnage he'd reaped, protecting him from the enemies he still thinks are out to get him.

Now that Wade is seeing better, he picks out more of Peter's wounds Gashes across his suit, blood spots, bruises, a swollen ankle, and worse of all, what looks like a bullet graze across his shoulder.

"I'm here," Wade murmurs, and this time Peter doesn't hiss at the sound. He keeps his head tucked, hiding in Wade's body like he doesn't intend to leave. Wade's heart squeezes. "I've got you. You're safe now. You're safe, Peter."

The sound of his name does get a curious chirp, but Wade doesn't think he's back from whatever spider headspace he'd been flung into. He's so motionless that Wade thinks he fell asleep and is preparing to scoop him up in his arms when a noise from the hall has Peter going rock solid in Wade's lap.

Wade curses as Tony appears in the doorway, a single Iron Man glove over his hand. His suit probably couldn't fit in the limited space of the halls.

"Wilson? You in there? What happened to keeping me-OH JESUS!" Tony stumbles back as Peter lunges. Wade saw it coming, and felt Peter moving, pushing off him, mouth open and fangs gleaming. Peter's entire being is suddenly fixated on Tony, the new player who'd unexpectedly entered the field. After being lulled into a sense of security, he isn't having any of it.

"No!" Wade grabs Peter around the waist and yanks him back with every ounce of strength he has. Surprise is on his side, as well as the bullet wound, swollen ankle, and cracked rib. Peter's hiss turns into a yelp as he's wrenched back and Wade sees the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He's shaking again, his body falling back into overdrive.

Before he can try and tear Tony's head off, Wade pins him to his chest, one arm curling around his midsection and the other lodging itself into his mouth. Peter immediately sinks his teeth into the mound of flesh so unfortunate to find itself between his jaws and locks it like a dog. Wade shoves his arm as far in as it can go any way, using it as leverage to keep Peter's head pinned backward while shuffling them away.

"You dumb fuck!" Wade roars at Tony. "Get out of here!"

"What the ever-loving hell!" Tony yells back.

"I can't hold him forever! Back up!"

Peter is thrashing in Wade's grip, twisting and turning, whining deep in his throat as it disturbs his wounds, but so engulfed in survival instinct he doesn't stop. Tony, for once in his life, listens, backing up with his repulsor firing up. Even as he leaves the room, Peter isn't settling down. Now that he's heard Tony, knows he's there, he's not going to let him get away so easily.

"Fuck," Wade whispers emphatically, closing his eyes. "Sorry, Petey." He jabs his fingers into Peter's broken ribs and Peter howls, curling over, and Wade strikes the pressure points in the back of his neck. One hard jab to the nerve and Peter drops like a stone. Wade catches him before he hits the floor and lays him down gently, dislodging his mangle arm from Peter's mouth as he does.

He wishes Peter looked peaceful, at least, but he doesn't. His body still shakes as though it's on autopilot, his face locked in a grimace even while unconscious. He won't be out for long.

Wade whirls on Tony, hands going to a gun that isn't there, so he settles on hissing through his teeth, "What the FUCK! I don't remember calling your white-toast ass here, what the hell are you doing?"

"You stopped responding," Tony shoots back, throwing his hands in the air. "Complete radio silence. You're lucky I didn't call for backup. I didn't know if you'd gotten yourself shot in the head like a dumbass. What did you expect me to do?"

"Do as your fucking told for once in your goddamn life, and stay put."

"Like I'm going to do that with one of our own on the line."

"Bullshit!" Wade snarls. "Bull-fucking-SHIT. You dumb-"

Tony is very lucky Wade doesn't have his guns or his swords. He's barely holding himself back from throttling the man, and only because if he did, the Avengers would be on his ass for the rest of his life for killing one of their members. Or, for the rest of their lives, to clarify.

So, Wade takes a deep breath and turns away. "Inner Cable," he mutters to himself. "Inner Iron Fist. Inner peace. You are Po. You have inner peace, Dragon Warrior." He scratches a hand down his face, exhales, and turns back to Tony, pointing, "You are stupid for someone who's supposed to be one of the smartest people in the world."

"One of the smartest?" Tony scowls.

"I was this close to calming him down," Wade seethes. "This close to walking him out of here."

"How was I supposed to know that?" Tony demands shrilly. "The whole point of an earpiece is to communicate."

"This is why nobody wants to join the Avengers."

"You wanted to join the Avengers."

"Yeah, well, I rescind my application. You all suck. Except Clint. But especially you. I can't believe this." Wade marches back over to Peter. As badly damaged as his face is, Peter is still recognizable. Wade wouldn't put it past Tony to snap a screenshot, so he slips off his mask and, with the utmost care, pulls it over Peter's face.

Heh, their masks really are similar.

He picks Peter up as gently as possible and holds him out to Tony.

Tony stares back incredulously.

"Take him to the Tower," Wade says, swallowing back bile. "Get him treated. Keep him safe. And I swear to god, if you peek under his mask, I will murder you. I don't care what building you lock yourself in, or what weapons you make, I will fucking hunt you down and you will die. Kapeesh?"

Tony's face pinches, but maybe there are some brain cells bouncing around in his skull because it doesn't challenge it. He knows how serious Wade is.

"Kapeesh." He says.

"Good."

Tony isn't a gym bro, but he has some muscle from working in the field. He can carry Peter out and use his armor to fly him away. He takes Peter carefully, mindful of his injuries, but doesn't look comfortable when he catches a glimpse of Peter's fangs.

He steps out the door, then stops. "Wait, what about you?"

Wade steps out into the hall, surveying the mass of mangled bodies that need to be out of here by the time this place opens in a few hours. None of this can get out. If the media catches wind of what happened here. If they find out what Spider-Man did...

"I'm going to take care of this," Wade says.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

Wade looks him dead in the eye, pocketed skin and scars sending twisted, harrowing shadows across his face. He doesn't say anything, just shoos Tony away.

Tony leaves and doesn't look back.

He's safe. But at what cost. ╥﹏╥